


Some Of Us Might Have To Lose

by MoonBreath98



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hawkeye dies in Age of Ultron, Non-Canonical Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-26 15:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30108231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonBreath98/pseuds/MoonBreath98
Summary: In which Clint Barton is killed during the events of Age of Ultron, leaving a hole in the Avengers.~~Okay so that description needs work, but I got this idea from a discussion I saw online that suggested this may be a better arc for a few characters and I couldn't stop thinking about it so now I'm writing it.
Kudos: 5





	1. I'll Take Him Home

All he saw was a silver and red blur as the twins sped away, and all he felt was his heart drop as he hoped they would come back. Barton was tired; he had been fighting off silver robots for hours and as soon as one went down, three more landed in front of him. This could be it, he thought, as he backed into a thin alley. The bots followed him, clawing and falling over each other in a desperate attempt to get him - to kill him, but Barton was smarter than hot metal and he had them right where he wanted them. He drew and notched an arrow as the tower of machinery grew taller. Bots were breaking away from the bottleneck, running towards him full pelt. Wait for it, he told himself, one more second, one more foot of metal. Running into the alley from the open road had caused quite the squeeze, and as the bodies started to block out the afternoon sun, he released his arrow, sending it into the tower where it exploded and sent robot body parts flying in all directions. Once the dust cleared, he picked off the last couple of survivors and took off down the rest of the alley.

He could see the helicarrier up ahead, behind houses and roads and cars that were all looking very battle worn. They were getting high now and the stream of people running through the streets had thinned out; he saw Nat up ahead, running towards the centre of the city where Ultron’s core was. She’s safe. That was a relief - he had hated going into this without her and would be grateful to be able to get back to lounging around the house together talking about everything and nothing. Steve and the weird twin were there too; he only half listened as he kept his eye out for more robots, though it dawned on him that he was probably the least well equipped of the four of them to deal with Ultron’s army. He agreed to go supervise the last of the evacuation, running with Nat until they found a nice looking open top car.

“Wanna give it a jump start, Widow?” He asked as he hopped over the door and into the driver’s seat. She lifted the hood, sticking her hands in near the engine and giving it a shock with the Widow’s Bite around her wrists. It took a couple of tries but eventually the car purred to life, and she joined him in the front.  
“Who said you were driving?” She retorted.  
“You know, you should add that to your list of tricks. Jump-starting cars. You haven’t got much else going for you.” She gave him a shove and he laughed as he steered around rubble in the road. They often teased each other and he was glad they could go straight back in. As they drove through the city, taking many wrong turns - “Oh well I’m sorry Nat, I must have left my map of Sokovia in my travel guide at home!” - the conversation flowed between many different topics, settling on the renovation Clint had in mind for his home back in the States. He began to describe the workspace he had planned to build for his wife, quiet and away from the kids, somewhere she could work on whatever while he taught them archery in the yard and took care of the baby. He grinned like an idiot as he anticipated the arrival of his youngest - Natasha noticed and smiled with him.

Natasha and Clint went their separate ways - her to soothe Bruce, him to get on the helicarrier with everyone else. As she turned away from him however, he felt nervous, unable to shake a bad feeling. Her red hair bobbed behind her as she ran until she was out of sight, and Clint’s eyes rested on the only other moving thing in his sight. It was an arm, belonging to someone no older than ten, sticking up and waving from behind a twisted metal handrail. The avenger straightened his aching shoulders, sighed, and ran over to the kid. He looked down at a tear-stained, blood-stained face, and began to wrestle the kid out of the rubble. His foot was stuck, but nothing too dramatic.  
“You’re gonna be fine, I’ll take you to your Mom okay? She’s waiting just over there for you.” He tried to point to the helicarrier, but the boy replied only in tears and stuttering Sokovian, so Clint had no idea how much had sunk in. He lifted the kid up, careful not to touch his managed foot, suddenly reminded of the time his oldest, Cooper, had fallen off his bike and twisted his ankle. Clint had carried him up the hill and all the way home, while also trailing the bike behind him. Laura was almost hysterical, dealing with the toddler who screamed when she saw her big brother cry. Laura. Lila. Cooper. Baby Nathaniel. He couldn’t wait to get back to them, couldn’t wait to be back on ground that stayed at ground level.

As he ran back to the carrier though, the sound of spraying bullets came ripping back through the air. He saw something that looked like a quinjet headed straight towards him. No pilot - only seared metal and an evil face. Ultron. The world pitched forward in slow motion. Two guns, firing sporadically at the street, getting closer and closer. The boy in his arms, and the faint outline of Steve running towards him from the side. He wouldn’t get there in time though. Dang it. Could really use that vibranium right about now, Cap. Destroyed cars all around him, and piles of bricks from the house behind. Maybe the house the boy lived in. Nothing close enough to dive behind, though. 

Clint knew what he had to do. As he turned a 180 to put himself between the jet and the crying boy, he hoped the others would get everyone on the carrier. He thought of them all, the team that Laura said he humanised. The way they had all chastised Tony and Bruce for creating Ultron. A stark realisation hit him - that it didn’t matter how Ultron came to be, just that they were going to get him. An image of coming home played through his head like a movie; swinging open the doors and changing into normal clothes, lying on the sofa with his wife and kids in his arms. The view was beautiful, and he let it shroud him like warm sunlight on a winter’s day.

He felt the piercing shock of bullets, and the sudden loss of the Sokovian boy falling from his arms.

Steve Rogers did not get to his teammate in time, his mouth trying to form words he did not have as he saw Barton fall. Pietro, the fast twin was on his way, his face a blur amongst his superspeed. Like Steve, he hadn’t got there in time. A car spun around before him; he had thrown it in a desperate attempt to shield the people in front of him and he watched it coming to rest in between Clint and Ultron’s jet just a second too late. Not fast enough. The boy felt sick as he watched Barton fall into the dust and debris, the young boy he had been holding bursting out in renewed sobs.  
“You get him, get him to the helicarrier and see if his Mom’s there. I’ve got Clint.” Steve felt his heart drop as he battled his own mind. Barton couldn’t be dead. He had been upright and smiling not a minute ago. Death was not new to Steve Rogers, but it struck him in the chest harder than any punch as he remembered anew the unpredictability and sudden-ness of it. He was about to talk to the team before he realized with a sick feeling that Natasha would still be on comms. She didn’t deserve to find out like that. For what seemed like hours, Steve waited to hear from her. Waited for her reaction when she realised what had happened. She hadn’t responded though. Had she seen? He looked around but couldn’t see her anyway. Preoccupied with Banner, he could only hope. He raised his hand to his earpiece.  
“Get Natasha off comms. Now.” He said to no-one in particular.  
“Rogers?” Came the reply. Maria Hill. “She’s - she’s off. What’s wrong?”  
“Clint. Didn’t get there in time. I’ll bring him onto the carrier.” He heard a sigh on the other end. He wasn’t looking forward to facing Natasha. Barton’s face stared upwards at him, blood dripping out of his mouth as Steve picked him up, carrying him towards the carrier. He set down Hawkeye, kneeling with his head lowered as he heard the boy reunited with his mother somewhere behind him. The avengers weren’t supposed to trade lives

Wanda - or the weird twin, as Barton had called her, had not been able to shake the feeling of having the Avengers in her head. It was nothing new, she felt like she’d had Tony Stark in her head since she was ten. But since she had sent their own nightmares back into their heads, she had felt the shockwaves of their fear in her head. Sickening, melancholy memory as if she were there with them. All but Barton - she hadn’t been able to feel him until she looked into his head while he talked her into becoming an Avenger. He was different though - it wasn’t his fear she felt, but his encouragement. The way he had forgiven her for poisoning his team mates and choosing the wrong side.  
Silver robots were crawling into the church towards her, towards the core she swore to protect. As red power swirled her hands and wrists, she felt something snap in her head. A disconnect that caused her physical pain. Despite having never felt it before, the pain sent her crying out to her knees. Somebody had died. Pietro? She almost threw up at the thought. No. No, I’d know if he were dead. If he were dead, I would be too. It was as if her father were dying all over again, grief as fresh as it had been eight years ago. From her hands across her whole body it spread, grief and shame and guilt bubbling up so intensely she could not bear it. Not again. She cried out in release, as a red shockwave billowed out around her, taking out every robot within fifty metres of the church.

Natasha didn’t know Barton was dead. Banner had dropped her onto the surface of the helicarrier and jumped away, while a quiet murmur played from her ear where her earpiece had shifted and was barely audible.  
The sun was bright, so bright. A figure ran towards her, offering an outstretched hand. God, her head was pounding. She just wanted a drink and a soft bed, until she remembered Bruce leaving to who knows where. By the time she had processed his sudden departure, Hill was standing in front of her, hands gripping her shoulders.  
“Take your earpiece out.”  
“What? What’s going on, where did-”  
“Romanoff. Take it out.” Natasha complied, taking out the small bug and throwing it at her feet. Her head was reeling, and she leaned against Hill to keep herself upright as they walked towards the control center of the carrier. Hill was saying something on comms, but Natasha couldn’t make anything out, her voice was so hushed.  
Fury was waiting for them. His face was unreadable as always so Natasha didn’t think anything was off.  
“Hulk jacked Ultron’s ride.” Was all he said, gesturing towards a computer screen.  
“He’s gone invisible. I was hoping you could talk him back.” Her head spun - what did he say? She tried to concentrate, as a video of the Hulk clinging to Ultron’s quinjet and ripping the robot out of the driver’s seat played on the monitor in front of her. Right. Bruce. She hit record and just spoke, telling him to turn tracking back on and to land the jet safely so they could get him. She wasn’t even listening to herself, barely registering the helicarrier turning in the air and pulling away from the floating Sokovia.  
Her head reeled as she walked away from the screen, stumbling until Fury caught her under the arm, wrapping his other hand around her shoulders and directing her to his chair. Keyboards clicked all around her and voices filled the control room. Fury knelt in front of her.  
“Romanoff. How you doing?”  
“Fine until that jet came too close. I’ll be fine, I just need uh, I need an aspirin maybe.” Hill smiled over Fury’s shoulder, but it was a sad, watery smile, and when Natasha met her eyes she looked away sharply, walking as she answered someone on comms.  
“We can get that. Sit, take a minute, we’ll be back on the ground soon.”  
Someone came to her with a glass of water and one of those paper cups with pills. All around her, the sound of agents working to stop the destruction of Sokovia continued, but she had started to notice worried, sad glances in her direction. Some of them even looked nervous. The chair underneath her was very comfortable though, so she opted to ignore the looks and settle. She was determined to keep her eyes open, until she felt that familiar ache between her eyebrows and a yawn stretched across her face. Five minutes couldn’t hurt.

Civilians streamed off the helicarrier as soon as it touched down. As much as their city floating through the sky had been scary, jumping onto a flying airport crammed with their neighbours had not been much of an improvement. A huge court of white tents had been set up a safe distance away on a military base’s drill square, and Sokovian military personnel were organising food, water, medical aid and a new place to sleep for every head that came towards them. In the center all that could be heard were frantic Sokovian voices, shouting over each other to find missing loved ones and to find out what on earth was going on. There was a crowd of quiet American officials in suits and military gear too; quiet as they felt dramatically out of place among the precision of the Sokovian military and the foreign words around them. One suited American agent turned his head towards a Sokovian soldier.  
“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say this whole operation on your guys’ part has been planned for months.” The soldier did not smile at the diplomat’s words.  
“It has, I suppose. The country’s been in civil war for years, we’re barely out of that. Aid operations are second nature now.”   
“Your English is great, they teach it in schools here?” An awkward moment of silence passed as the soldier’s eyes rolled so hard she almost fell over.  
“They didn’t need to. When the people bombing you speak English, you pick it up. Now if you’ll excuse me.” She said behind a curtain of false politeness before turning to attend to a distraught woman.  
Agents were still crossing over the surface of the helicarrier and in amongst the lifeboats and command center as the huge craft took off again, leaving just a few quinjets and boxes of supplies behind.

Steve’s breathing was heavy as he approached Fury in the command center, gripping the railing. His muscles ached faintly, although he wouldn’t feel the fatigue his team mates would in the morning. He dropped his shield on the floor - in exhaustion or defeat? It didn’t matter. Fury whirled around.  
“Rogers.” There was nothing else to be said. Fury approached and laid a hand on Steve’s shoulder, staring at him with an expressionless yet sorrowful face. Steve let out a breath and pulled Fury in for a hug. Neither resisted as they held each other.  
“How the fuck am I gonna tell her Fury?”  
It briefly crossed Fury’s mind to chastise Rogers’ language, just to make him smile, but it wouldn’t have helped. He pulled away, his voice dropping as he became aware yet again of the sleeping agent to his right.  
“She’s here. I thought you would want to tell her. You can take her into one of the side rooms, they’re quiet.”  
“Barton’s wife?”  
“Hill and I are going as soon as we land.”  
“Nat’ll want to come with you.”  
“I know. I don’t think I’ll be able to stop her either.”  
“She’ll commandeer this whole craft and fly herself there if you do.”   
Fury’s mouth turned up in something that could have been the start of a smile, if the atmosphere wasn’t so melancholy. 

Steve looked around, getting his bearings. He hadn’t been in a helicarrier in a while. Clicks and beeps from the tech around him swarmed his mind, as well as the constant movement of agents between doors and each other’s screens. Hill was a few yards ahead of them, signing off papers on clipboards and sending some agents away for rest, presumably. And just below his elbow, sleeping in a half sitting position, was Natasha. Her hair was caked with dust and blood, the metal plates around her wrists were all scratched up and her face had been beaten up pretty badly. Kidnapped by Ultron, saving an entire city and being left up here by Hulk, all in the space of a couple days. And now he had to tell her her best friend was gone.  
“Where is Barton now?” He asked Fury quietly as he gently shook Natasha’s shoulder.  
“Medical. Room 2.22”  
“Ah well, that’s easy to remember,” Natasha was stirring, looking around in confusion until she saw Steve standing above her. “Nat. Nat, come on, I gotta talk to you.”  
“Is everyone okay? Did we get everyone off?”  
“Everyone we could. Ultron’s gone, don’t worry. You did it.” A sigh escaped the redhead as she rubbed her face with her palms, streaking blood up and down her skin.  
“Nat, come on. Follow me.” She followed, standing with a pained noise and limping behind Steve. Her headache had subsided somewhat, only to be replaced by a tiredness she felt in her bones.  
“Is Banner back?”  
“I… don’t know. I’ll ask Fury later.” 

Steve opened the door to a side room a short way away from the bustling command. Fury was right, it was quiet. Furnished with a bed, a small table and a desk, it was clearly meant for sleeping agents who were on-call.  
“Where is everyone?” Natasha asked. Half the team she hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. Come to think of it, how long had she been asleep? It could have been hours since she last saw Tony, Thor, Barton and all the others.  
“Sit down, Nat.” Steve replied. She was halfway down to the bed by the time he spoke, but that made her stand up straight again.  
“What’s wrong, Steve?” Dammit. Clearly he was not being as gentle as he had hoped to be. He was quiet just a moment longer, trying to find the right words. Did he break the news like a soldier, stoic but unfeeling? Or like a friend, with an open arm and an apologetic word? And how would she react?  
She knew something was wrong. She heard it in his voice, saw it in his face. He wasn’t telling her something. Was it Banner, was he okay? Was he back, or had he just gone further away? He pulled the desk chair away and sat, staring up at her until she sunk down onto the bed. It was vaguely soft, but felt like it hadn’t been slept in.  
“Steve.” She said, staring past his eyes.  
“It’s Clint.” Maybe he should let her lead this.  
“What do you mean, where is he?” Her words were quick and her jaw tightened.  
“He’s gone, Natasha. He was protecting a kid, and Ultron shot him.”  
“No.”  
“Natasha, I’m so sorry.”  
“Steve.” Her voice was softer now, more broken. It almost sounded like she was pleading with him, waiting for him to finger-gun reveal with a “gotcha!” and Clint and the others would pile into the room laughing at her gullible-ness. Except Natasha wasn’t gullible, and Steve wasn’t that good an actor, which only left one option.  
Steve remembered that you were supposed to be very up front when telling somebody they’d lost a family member. Be blunt to make sure they understood.  
“He’s dead, Natasha, I’m so sorry.”

Her mouth was open a crack, and her head turned slightly as she looked into Steve’s eyes, seeing the pain he was going through. All the silence in the room threatened to crush her as all the thoughts racing through her mind ground to a halt. Somebody had quite rudely knocked the wind out of her with a giant fist, or a huge metal quinjet which seemed more appropriate. She turned her head up, blinking away tears and staring at the ceiling. It was tiled with sleek silver panelling, and a small red light was blinking - a camera, or smoke alarm maybe.  
“Where is he?” She asked, her voice reduced to its minimum. She sounded like a child.  
“Medical. I can take you to him.”  
“Uh-huh. And, uh, and Laura?” Steve had been trying to remember the name of Barton’s wife.  
“Fury and Hill are going to tell her.”  
“I’ll go with them. I should be there for her. I’ll...I’ll take him home.”  
“I know you will.” She finally lowered her head to look at Steve, her lip quivering and tears brimming at the corners of her eyes.  
“It’s not fair. That’s not fair. He has a family, he has - oh my god.” Her hands came up to her head as she crouched over. That brought tears to Steve’s eyes, as he knelt on the floor to hold her in a tight hug.  
“I’m with you every step of the way, Romanoff. Whatever you need. I am so sorry.”  
“Me too. I’m sorry, Steve,” She pulled away from his embrace and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Now is the moment where you tell me everyone else is okay.”  
“Everyone else is okay. We’re okay, I promise.” He got a sad smile, which was more than he was expecting.  
“We will be.”


	2. The Defrost Playlist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the support, no matter how small - it means the world to me!

To say the compound was quiet would have been an understatement. Sorrow and loss permeated the walls, cloaking all who lived inside the building with an ache that could never be soothed. Bringing life back to the place was a slow and difficult process, and it started with Steve Rogers. Unhappy with how little he saw his teammates eating, he rose with the sun one Saturday morning and strolled down to the kitchen they all shared in his white t-shirt and grey sweatpants. The kitchen was immaculate; everything had been tidied away the previous night and the surfaces gleamed up at him. He had to root through a couple of cupboards until he found the pans he was looking for. Luckily, all the food he needed was right at the front of the enormous double fridge. He started a pot of coffee and got to work at the stove, frying tomatoes and sausages and bacon across two heavy pans. The oven was right in front of a large window looking out towards green fields, forest, and little sign of civilization. It was peaceful, and the morning sun streamed in onto his chest and arms.  
“Friday, could you play the ‘defrosting’ playlist please?” He said to no-one in particular.  
“Good morning Captain Rogers. Shuffling the defrost playlist for you now.” The AI was wired into the whole compound, could be reached from any corner of the building. Speakers in the lounge behind Steve began to play In The Mood by Glenn Miller and the super-soldier-turned-amateur chef began to tap his feet in time with the music. A classic. Tony had put this playlist together for him, mostly, with help from the others. It had all his favourite songs from before the war, as well as some more recent ones to try to bring him up to speed with music gently, hence the defrosting.  
“You know, Friday, this music stuff is magic. Back in my day, you needed a record and a machine and even then there wasn’t nearly as much choice. So many genres these days.”  
“Yes, about that sir. Miss Maximoff added a new song last night which I wanted to double check with you. It’s… it’s quite a different type of music.”  
“Well, I’m always up for a new sound. Glad to hear she’s getting involved as well, what’s the song?”  
“Death of a Bachelor, by Panic at The Disco. I’ll queue it up for you.” Steve smiled. Interesting band name. And song name.

The song seemed to draw Wanda Maximoff out of her room and she crept down the corridor in a pair of ripped black leggings and an oversized t-shirt that probably belonged to her brother.  
“Wanda! I was just listening to your song.”  
“I heard. You don’t have to you know, I think I added it to the wrong playlist-”  
“Nonsense, I like it actually. Sit - I’m making breakfast.”  
Wanda smiled as she balanced herself on one of the blue barstools by the kitchen island that served as a breakfast bar. Death of a Bachelor was one of her tamer favourite songs. If she had added anything more wild to the playlist, she ventured Steve would have gone back into the ice voluntarily. The smell of fried foods filled the air, and Wanda let her shoulders relax once she realised she had been tensing them. Even after two weeks, she still didn’t quite feel like she fit in at the compound.  
“How are you, Wanda?”  
“I’m fine.” Wanda replied with a surprised tilt of her head. She started picking at her own fingertips.  
“You don’t have to be, you know. It must be strange being in a new country, with new people. Happened kinda suddenly, too.” Steve felt he could relate, though he didn’t say it.  
“There wasn’t really much left for us in Sokovia.” She hesitated. There were so many things she could say about her home country - and wanted to say too, but she didn’t want to bombard these people with any of it. She also didn’t know if she trusted them enough yet. Pietro wasn’t interested - any time she tried to talk about Sokovia he just insisted that he had seen everything she had and more. Wanda looked up. Steve had stopped what he was doing, and had his head turned over his shoulder slightly. Listening.  
“We lived in a science lab. And before that, foster homes, if we were lucky. Cardboard, tents, and doorsteps if we weren’t. There was this one lady, though. Mrs Novak, she lived in our apartment building before it was blown up, and she tried to keep an eye on us. She lived alone, didn’t have much money but she gave us what she could. Spare food, life advice, old clothes for me, and more often than not a smack on the ear for Pietro.” Wanda laughed softly at the memory, and Steve turned around, smiling at her. He didn’t think he had ever really heard her laugh.  
“I hope I get to hear more stories, and more of that laugh Maximoff.” He paused, plating up some bacon and tomatoes. “Could you make up some toast for me? We’re gonna feed these people today, Wanda, whether they like it or not.”

Wanda smiled and nodded her head, standing up and getting to work on a rack of toast. It was nice to be useful, and Steve made the kitchen feel calm as he continued to tap his feet to whatever song was playing.  
“Friday, could you put me on broadcast please?” Steve asked, loading up the pan with more food.  
“Yes Captain. You are now broadcasting.”  
“Calling all Avengers, calling all Avengers! Your breakfast is served; Maximoff and I have been slaving over this hot stove over here in blue kitchen and we’ll be heartbroken if you skip meals. Chow time, that’s an order!” His spatula banged the side of the pan enthusiastically, and a beep from the speaker let him know he was no longer on air. There were about four kitchens in the compound, each one helpfully colour coded, so the residents had taken to using furniture colour to distinguish between them. Blue kitchen was on the same floor as most of their rooms, but still quietly trafficked. Movement through the hallways was rare, and most of the team kept to themselves these days.

Pietro was the first to arrive for his breakfast.He came speeding into the kitchen, coming to a stop by the island and almost stopping the heart of Steve, who was laying out plates. Wanda seemed unconcerned, and barely flinched as her brother arrived.  
“Maximoff, you gotta warn me when you’re coming. Scared me.”  
“In my defense, you asked me to come.” He wrapped an arm around his sister in a hug and then sat down, dragging a plate towards him and piling it up with food.  
Steve worried for a moment that no-one else would come, so he was relieved to see even Vision strolling in. Wanda saw him and quickly averted her eyes as she sat by her brother.  
“Vision, good morning!” Steve greeted him. He paused for a second, and then, “Do you...eat? Do you eat breakfast?”  
The synthezoid looked almost normal in jeans and a sweatshirt, save for the red skin and infinity stone in his forehead.  
“I do not, Captain Rogers. But since Miss Maximoff and yourself went to such efforts, I thought I would at least offer my company.”  
“Glad to have you. Did you see anyone else on your way?”  
Vision’s answer was interrupted by the arrival of Sam and Rhodey together, who had apparently been in the gym together and were still in workout clothes.  
“Man, I’ve been waiting for the day Captain America cooks for me. I like it.” Sam said with a smile as he too took a seat at the bar. Rhodey was quieter, accepting a plate from Steve and taking just a couple of pieces of toast.  
The sound system beeped once more, and the disembodied voice of Tony Stark addressed them all.  
“Can’t believe you’re having breakfast without me Cap.”  
“There’s a plate here for you Tony. I’ll keep it warm.”  
“No point. I’m on business in the city till late, might not be back for a couple days either. Business of the Pepper variety, you see.”  
Steve’s shoulders dropped slightly. “No worries Tony. We’ll see you when we see you.”

It was the best they were going to get, and it was something so Steve smiled. A conversation was struck up, mostly about the weather and the new facilities everyone had only recently moved in to.  
“Speedy twin, eyes bigger than your stomach?” Sam joked when he saw that Pietro had left half his plate still full. The boy looked down, then looked at his sister, suddenly embarrassed. He tried to stutter out an answer, but Wanda took his hand and replied for him.  
“An old habit. We’re not used to having much food, we’re used to having to stockpile extras. And Pietro’s used to saving half his food for me.” An awkward silence and downward glances followed. Wanda was hit with the memory of being sat on the floor in the corner of her cell at the Hydra base. Leaning against metal bars in a daze, her head buzzing with energy and pain, her arms reaching out into the air before her, swiping helplessly at nothing. Then a hand, snaking around the wall from the cell next to hers, reaching under the bars with a handful of bread, or carrots or even a square of chocolate from her twin who heard her cry in the night and tried to bring down the wall. If only he had strength, not speed.  
“Well, you are small. Here, have some more food magic twin.” Sam pushed another plate full of fried potatoes towards her, managing to draw out a little smile.  
Maria Hill walked in before they finished, taking just half a slice of toast and leaning against the counter while she ate, already dressed and looking ready to take on the world. Steve leaned over and whispered quietly to her, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen much of Natasha?”  
“Negative. Not since the funeral. I know she came back from the Barton farm a couple of days after though. Probably just in her room.”  
“Alright, thanks Hill. Help yourself to more breakfast by the way, seems like I made far too much.”

Everyone made their excuses shortly after; Sam and Rhodey and Pietro back to the gym, Wanda to her room, Vision off to do whatever Vision did during the day, and Hill to important duties with Fury. Steve piled leftover breakfast foods onto a plate and put it in the oven to keep warm. He rinsed his hands under a cold tap, taking a deep breath as he held himself against the counter. All he could think about was Natasha. The team wasn’t the same without her and Clint’s dynamic; the playful arguing and insults and the way they could humanise and ground everyone else.

Natasha’s room was off in the corner of the compound, overlooking the front entrance and the warehouse in the distance. Tony said he chose that one for her because it was the only one big enough to throw knives in, but they all knew it was so she could have some privacy, away from everyone else. Steve knocked at the door.  
“Morning, Natasha. Natasha?”  
No answer.  
“You missed breakfast. I’ve put a plate in the oven for you, keep it warm. We’ve all gone our separate ways so it’s quiet. See you at lunch?”  
Still no answer. Steve nodded to himself and was about to walk away before the door clicked and opened behind him. He turned around, not knowing at all what to expect.  
Natasha stood before him in yoga pants and a hoodie too big for her. It looked like one of Clint’s. Her hair looked greasy and was pulled back tightly into a bun that had been slept in. She wasn’t looking him in the eyes so he could barely see her face, but he could make out dark markings under her eyes. After what felt like an hour, she spoke, barely more than a whisper.  
“Do you have time for a run tonight?”  
“With you? Of course. I’ll meet you at the door at six.”  
“Eight.”  
“Eight.”  
She gave a short nod in response and then shut the door again.

Eight o clock came and went, leaving Steve Rogers sat on a bench outside the main doors to the compound, holding a water bottle and starting to shiver against the cold setting in. Shield agents had been coming and going, barely giving him a second glance. All too busy dealing with Sokovia and the fallout, he knew. In a way, he was doing the same. Except his role involved a lot less paperwork and a lot more people. He had dealt with loss before, but somehow this was different; trying to be there for his whole team while they mourned one of their own, especially Natasha. He glanced up over his shoulder towards her window - it was still covered by curtains as it had been since she got back.

When she didn’t answer the knock on her door, Steve went in. It was unlocked after all, and he could deal with her yelling at him. He would love for her to yell at him actually, as long as it meant she was okay. He looked around but she was nowhere to be seen. The lights were off, casting the room in grey and what was left of the evening sun. Her bed was untidy, and there were empty food wrappers surrounding it. At least she’s eating. In the corner by a couch was a stack of cardboard boxes. Some had her name on, some Clint’s, and some where their names had been crossed out and replaced with “The Russian One” and “The Useless One”. There were other nicknames as well, some of them resembling Tony’s handwriting, but mostly looking like Clint and Natasha insulting one another. Everything else in the room looked barely lived in; a desk with no paper or pens and the plastic wrap still on the chair, an empty wardrobe with an open suitcase next to it, and an empty towel rack by the bathroom door. Empty.

She was in the bathroom when he went in, sat on the floor of her shower dry and still dressed.  
“I’m sorry I missed our run.”  
“That’s okay. We can catch up tomorrow. Or not, whatever you need.” She groaned and ran her fingers through her hair, pulling slightly.  
“What are you feeling, Natasha?”  
She looked at him with red eyes primed to start crying again. It took him aback.  
“Do you remember when Fury died in front of us? Except it turned out he wasn’t really dead?”  
“I do.” Steve was confused, until he saw her empty face. She’s waiting for him to come back.  
“I have always, always, tried not to get attached to people for this exact reason. So that when they leave or die, it doesn’t hurt. And I knew I was too attached to him, but I didn’t care because I could have sworn he was invincible. He just wasn’t going to die, or if he was then he would at least have the decency to let me go first. I let him take me to meet his wife, his kids, I lived in his house, I knew everything about him and now he is dead. And I still have all these attachments, I mean Steve, the way those kids looked at me. Or didn’t - Cooper barely talked to me, and - and the way Laura looked at me, this sad pregnant woman who I had this unspoken agreement with that I wouldn’t let her husband die because I would always be there and then I just wasn’t fucking there I wasn’t there when he died and then I couldn’t bring him back when his kids asked me too and now he’s gonna have a kid he’ll never meet and who’ll never know him and fuck me Steve I just don’t think I can do this.”

Her breathing had become erratic and she was pulling at her hair, her eyes darting around the shower she was sat in. Steve reached out to hold her shoulders.  
“Nat, it’s okay I’m here. You’re okay. What do you need, how can I help?”  
“I need - I need - I need to scream I think. Just scream.”  
“Okay so do it.”  
Steve could handle screaming. Even from the Black Widow. But she didn’t scream, at least not really. She just kind of cried out, a painful cry that got choked up on tears and sounded like someone with fatal injuries. Natasha half-screamed, half-cried as Steve held her, eventually turning into him holding her in a tight hug, letting her cry onto his shoulder as he held her up. Her pain was enough to bring tears to his eyes, and he allowed himself to feel the loss of his friend as he returned the favour to Nat, crying onto her back as she did to him.

By the time they emerged from their crying session, it was almost ten. Steve got up and wandered across the bathroom to get a glass of water for each of them, and Natasha slowly hauled herself to her feet. She had barely even registered her bathroom; had barely been in it long enough to do so since moving in. It was nice, she guessed. White tile and silver appliances and a huge mirror above the sink, still covered in plastic. It occurred to her that she hadn’t brushed her teeth in a while. I’ll start there. Steve was moving about in her room, so she managed to dart to one of her boxes to grab her toothbrush and get back into the bathroom without him noticing. As she brushed her teeth, she began to cry again. God, I must look pathetic right now. Please don’t let Steve walk in. He didn't; when she left the bathroom, he had his back to her, looking out of the window at nothing in particular.  
“You wanna sleep? It’s getting late.”  
“Yeah sure.” He smiled and moved towards the door, but she stopped him.  
“Could you stay? I know it’s weird, but I just...I promise I’ll actually come to breakfast tomorrow.”  
Steve smiled again and came towards her, wrapping her in another tight hug, which she reciprocated before quickly wiping her eyes.  
“I’ll take the couch. And maybe tomorrow, I could help you out with these boxes? You might feel better with your stuff around you.”  
“And then a run?”  
“Breakfast, boxes, run. Sounds like a plan, Romanoff.”  
He shed his hoodie, turning his back so she could take hers off and crawl into bed. He was prepared to go cold overnight before a bundled blanket hit him in the chest from across the room, followed quickly by a whispered apology.

Nobody knew of course, but that night marked the first time since the Sokovia incident that night fell and saw everyone asleep peacefully, with no tears or nightmares. If the building could talk, it would have breathed a sigh of relief at the quiet and the slow steps of healing.


End file.
